


Interrogation

by S_V



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Blood and Violence, Gen, and some angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2014-05-18
Packaged: 2018-01-25 14:12:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1651517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/S_V/pseuds/S_V
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My take on how Bumblebee lost his voice box, and what he felt during the torture. <br/>Rather short, OptimusxBumblebee if you squint really hard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Interrogation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [im-burnin-rubber](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=im-burnin-rubber).



> A prize for im-burnin-rubber on tumblr, who requested something with Bumblebee and Optimus, maybe a reunion. My brain took over, and it ended up being just a bit graphic.   
> Again, I don't have a beta-reader, so bear with any typos or mistakes you might spot.

When Bumblebee came online, it was to pain. It seared through his frame, burning in his shoulder joints and running along his spinal strut. Attempting to move in order to ease the strain only revealed that his arms had been chained behind his back, stasis cuffs keeping him from transforming. Giving a low groan, he looked around himself, slowly focusing his optics.

Last thing he remembered was doing an intel run across the battlefield, carrying vital information to bring Optimus. Thinking of his leader, he automatically straightened, not even aware of it as he shouldered the painful discomfort he was feeling. All in order to be strong for Optimus. He had been taking a shortcut through the arch of an once beautiful building, now ruined by warfare. And then...

Nothing. His memory files went black as something had knocked him into stasis. Judging from the chains now holding him down, it was easy to guess who had ambushed him – Decepticons. He had been taken prisoner.

His first concern upon this realization wasn't for himself; it was for the Autobots, for the news he carried, for Optimus. Their leader needed every servo he could get if he were to have any hopes of defeating Megatron's forces. Even a mere scout made a difference – Optimus himself had looked Bumblebee in the optic while telling him this. And the young 'Bot would rather eat a live scraplet than in any way let down the mech who had smiled at him while explaining him his own value in a somber voice. Who had made Bumblebee feel like he was worth something, like he could make a difference. He would never fail Optimus.

With that in mind, he straightened his back and held his door wings high, taking in his surroundings. He was still on the battlefield, smoking craters and crumbling buildings falling apart around him. The sounds of fighting were distant, however, telling him that the tides had turned while he was out. In whose favor, he didn't know, though the cuffs around his wrists gave him an unpleasant hint.

Almost as if to confirm this, his audios picked up the sound of heavy pedefalls nearing from behind him. As a matter of fact, he could hear several mechas close in on him, but those slow and deliberate steps were what his mind immediately focused on. He'd know that sound everywhere. It was a sound that installed fear into the spark of every Autobot who heard it. The sound of the Decepticon warlord's approach; of certain death's approach.

“Well well... Optimus Prime's little scout. Very good job, Stormstrike.” Bumblebee couldn't help it – his door wings lowered at the deep sound of Megatron's rumbling voice. _This was bad_. He wasn't naive, he knew that being captured by the 'Cons meant you were done for. They showed no mercy, and the best you could hope for was a quick death. But when Megatron himself was here... Bumblebee didn't want to think about what that might implicate. Keeping quiet, he forced his frame not to shiver, acutely aware on the steps drawing closer. When Megatron finally stopped behind him, he was trying hard not to let his body betray the fear he felt.

He wasn't going to give the warlord anything. He wouldn't let the former gladiator see just how scared he was. He would stay strong. For Optimus. Steeling himself for whatever was to come, he made his expression hard, gritting his denta and flaring defiance across his EM field. He wasn't afraid. He was a scout, he had known the risk of getting caught when he accepted his task.

His actions earned him a low chuckle, promising no good as Megatron slowly circled around to stop in front of him. Now, Bumblebee was faced with a choice: did he want to look up at the warlord or not? Not meeting his optics would imply that he was intimidated, that he was submitting to the other. But looking up from where he was kneeling on the ground would mean that, well, he had to _look up_ at Megatron. It was demeaning. No matter what, he couldn't win. But in the very least, he could show his defiance.

Straightening his back and stiffening his door wings, he looked up, meeting Megatron's optics with as steely a gaze as he could manage. He was proud of the result until the former gladiator smirked at him. That wasn't what he had been expecting, and his determination faltered, being replaced by confusion. Why was Megatron acting like he was in complete control of the situation when Bumblebee was trying to make it clear that he _wasn't?_

“So, little scout... My loyal soldiers tell me you were in quite a hurry getting to the Prime's position. What, pray tell, was so important to tell him that you heedlessly walked into one of our traps?” Grasping Bumblebee's chin, Megatron easily lifted him, the scout's neck briefly straining before he could get his pedes beneath him. Not that it helped much – he must have been kneeling for some time, because the energon flow had more or less been cut of the his legs, making him stumble. Funny how he hadn't noticed it earlier, but only felt it now that his circuits started prickling painfully as energon flowed through his wires once again.

Trying to hide the weakness in this act, hide that he could barely stand, Bumblebee sent Megatron a hard glare. Judging from the predatory smirk the warlord sent him, exposing his fanged denta, he had caught it when the young Autobot faltered. Bumblebee tried not to let that affect him, drawing in a deep vent.

“I will never tell you anything, Megatron.” He was honestly proud by how steady he managed to keep his voice. He was afraid, yes, but he didn't let his voice betray him, and he kept his gaze hard as he met Megatron's optics. He wanted to show the warlord that he wasn't afraid of him, that there was still some resiting him, that he would never win because the Autobots would never submit to his ways. He was expecting pain, expecting to be punished for his insubordination, but instead, Megatron threw his helmet back and laughed. For some reason, that was worse than if he had gotten angry, worse than if he had hit Bumblebee.

“Oh, you will talk... I can see the fear in your optics, little scout. You're trying to stay brave, telling yourself you will fight, but in reality, you're horrified. I've seen that look countless times in the Pits of Kaon, in the faces of my opponents. You think I won't recognize your horror?” Tightening the strong claws around Bumblebee's face, he lifted him just a bit more, only allowing the tips of his pedes to touch the ground. The scout gasped, squirming a bit before sending Megatron a furious look.

“Too bad, Megatron. I may be scared, but that doesn't mean I'll tell you anything. Maybe I'm afraid of pain, but I'll never be afraid of _you._ This is a fight you're not going to win.” Trying his best to keep his head high despite the awkward position Megatron was holding him in, he swallowed, forcing his vents to remain calm and not give anything away. Raising a brow, Megatron tilted his helmet a bit, looking Bumblebee over with a calm and calculating look.

“No? Little scout, do you honestly think you can deceive a Decepticon? You can't lie to me, but let me give you a hint. Your words would have been just slightly more convincing if your door wings hadn't been trembling.” Bumblebee widened his optics slightly, immediately stiffening the mentioned appendages. He had been so focused on keeping his fear from his face and voice, on radiating defiance, that he had forgotten about his door wings. Feeling a wave of panic, he forced himself not to show it, to remain in complete control of his frame. Of course, he didn't fool Megatron.

“Allow me to help you with your little predicament.” He rumbled he words, a large grin spreading across his face as he reached one hand behind Bumblebee's back, grasping his right door wing firmly. Bumblebee immediately stiffened before trying to squirm out of his hold, but that was futile. Megatron's servo was strong, and while he didn't tighten his hold enough to become painful, there was still no escaping it. For a few kliks, he simply held still, patiently waiting for Bumblebee to grasp there was no way he could get free and to stop squirming. When he realized this, Bumblebee stopped moving, looking back up at Megatron. For a moment, he thought that was all; that the warlord had merely wanted to steady the appendage.

Then Megatron tightened his grip, and _twisted_.

The first thing registering in Bumblebee's processor was the crunching. He could hear it, could hear plating scream and grind together, could hear electricity fizzling when wires were snapped and circuits cut. He could hear the groan of metal being bent out of shape, the screech when it was torn from it's original placement. But what was worse was that he could _feel_ it. He could feel his door wing getting twisted, could feel things within him snap, break and bend. And when the pain finally washed over him, he was almost grateful, because it stole focus from that sickening feeling of parts of his frame getting violated like that.

Throwing his helmet back, he screamed in pure agony as the pain blossomed from his right door wing, crawling through his circuitry and lacing his voice with static. Optics briefly flickering, he thrashed in Megatron's hold, unconsciously trying to get away from the pain and escape the torture, to just do _something_ that would alleviate this horrible agony. Through it all, Megatron was smirking down at him, slowly and methodically twisting the appendage between his fingers until he finally let go.

Bumblebee whimpered when he felt his wing fall limply against his back, making a choking sound. He could feel the strain on the wires still securing it to his body when they suddenly had to carry the dead weight, could feel how they were pulled against the serrated edges of where his limb had once been connected to his back. It was sickening, the sensation mixing with the pain rushing through his frame and making him feel nauseous. A sudden need to purge his tanks settled deep within his chassis, and he gagged at the servo still wrapped around his throat. Megatron didn't even allow him the luxury of relieving himself of the sickening feeling in his tanks.

Removing the servo from the scout's back, he instead backhanded him hard across the face. It wasn't a proper hit, and it wasn't meant to hurt. The strength behind it had been carefully calculated to be enough to snap Bumblebee back to reality without granting him the relief of letting him loose consciousness. It was mocking, demeaning. Coughing static, Bumblebee glared hard at Megatron, venting irregularly as he ignored the warnings popping up on his HUD, telling him that his frame was in a bad shape. He already knew that, he could feel it with each pulse his spark gave. And the pain didn't fade, on the contrary, it felt like it was simply building behind his plating, until it almost became too much to bear.

“There, now your door wing can't give your fear away by trembling. I removed one of your weaknesses for you. Should I take the other while I'm at it?” Megatron's deep voice was casual, as if he was merely discussing the weather, and not telling Bumblebee how he intended to torture him. Studying his servo, which was covered in energon, he gave a cruel grin as he flexed his claws. Bumblebee bit down a whimper, taking a deep vent before sending him a hard glare.

“Do what you want, Megatron. I'm not going to talk, and I'm not afraid of you. You rule through tyranny, but I won't be cowed.” He forced the words past his lip plates, his tone betraying pain but no fear as he tried focusing his gaze on the warlord. For the first time, Megatron's optics showed pure rage, and he tightened his hand around Bumblebee's throat, cutting off the energon circulation to his processor and making the blue light in his eyes flicker.

“We'll just have to see about that, won't we?” Throwing Bumblebee hard to the ground, Megatron stepped closer, cracking his knuckles threateningly. “Oh yes, we'll just have to see.”

***

Bumblebee was coughing hard, droplets of energon flying from his intake to splatter the ground and mix with the blue already there. Trying to get up, to use his hands chained behind him to support his frame's weight, he gave a pained scream when a heavy pede was planted on his back, roughly pushing him down and stirring his wounds once more. It knocked the air from him, breaking off his scream with a burst of static, and more energon dripped from his intake, making dirt stick to his lip plates as his face was shoved into the ground.

Bumblebee was past the point where he would squirm under the weight pressing down on his back and threatening to break his back strut. He no longer hoped for mercy; mercy would be a swift death. And that would have happened megacycles ago.

Now, as his face plate was pressed into his own energon splattering the ground, he finally allowed himself to shutter his optics. His frame was broken, and he was pretty sure something within him had burst at one point, quite possibly his fuel tank. Oil and energon was mixing and leaking from countless lacerations across his body, and in some places, Megatron had simply ripped off his plating with an odd mixture between a gladiators raw strength and a surgeons skilled knowledge. Yes, his frame was broken, but his spark wasn't.

He hadn't talked. He had screamed, cursed, cried, but he hadn't given Megatron any intel. None. And that thought alone was enough to make his lip plates pull into a pained smile. He might die, but he had won this. He had shown Megatron that he would never give in. Bumblebee wasn't afraid anymore. The fear had left him, had been replaced with agony. And now, he almost felt serene. He was going to be offlined, but he had stayed true to the Autobots to the very end. He hadn't betrayed Optimus.

Apparently, Megatron sensed this as well. The pede moved from his back, and the warlord's servos grasped his shoulders roughly, pulling him up and pushing him against someone else. Bumblebee gave a pained groan when his back pressed against the chest of someone who looped their arms around his shoulders, keeping him standing. That was almost a relief, actually – he wouldn't have been able to keep his footing if someone didn't support him.

“Well then... You really won't talk, hm? Stubborn little scout.” Megatron didn't sound angry as he stated this, his deep voice almost calm. Gathering his strength, Bumblebee lifted his helmet, sending him a look from optics swimming with agony. He had meant for it to be defiant, but he got the feeling it was more exhausted than anything else.

“I'm not stubborn... I'm strong. Stronger than you.” He rasped the words, voicebox sore from having screamed so much. The arms around him briefly tightened, making him give a pained gasp, but Megatron held up a servo, stopping the nameless 'Con holding him before he could go further. Instead, the warlord slowly stepped closer, burning red optics regarding Bumblebee, giving his slightly dazed mind the impression that the former gladiator was looking directly through his chassis and into his spark. Swaying a bit on his pedes, he did his best to raise his head and glare defiantly back, to show he wasn't broken.

“No... You're weak, little scout. And now, you've just made yourself useless to me, meaning I have no reason to go easy on you.” Placing his large claws beneath Bumblebee's chin, he lifted his helmet, studying his face plate with narrowed optics. Then a cruel grin broke across his face, showing his fanged denta in an expression promising nothing good for his prisoner.

“Well then, if you're not going to talk to me, I will make sure you will never talk at all.” Bumblebee just had time to wonder what he meant before a new and excruciating pain shot through him. Megatron's other hand, the one not tilting his helmet up, was digging into his throat, brutally tearing off plating. Screaming in agony, Bumblebee thrashed, feeling sick from the way he could feel those large claws move _inside_ of his neck. Then his scream was abruptly cut off when Megatron's hand closed around something, pulling it from his throat with a wet crunch. Energon flowed from his neck and down his chassis, entering his vents and making them give an odd gurgling sound as he fought to cool down his frame. Intake open and vents working hard, Bumblebee tried to scream at the torture, but no sound left his mouth.

The hand still around his chin dug it's claws into the soft metal of his face plate, turning his helmet and forcing him to look up at Megatron. The picture of the warlord was swimming, his internal systems screaming and his HUD flashing numerous warnings at him. Still, he saw the former gladiator hold up his free servo, saw something glistening between the energon covered digits... then Megatron clenched his fist and broke it.

As if waiting for this to happen, the arms around him loosened, and Bumblebee collapsed into a shivering pile on the ground, feeling energon seep from his frame. Attempting to scream in agony only resulted in a whimpering exhale, the sound wet and broken as his went were slowly filling, making it impossible for him to cool himself. His voicebox... Megatron had pulled his voicebox from his neck, had destroyed it in front of his optics as he was forced to helplessly watch. He wanted to do something, to wrap his arms around himself or his throat, but he couldn't move. His limbs were growing heavy, the pain going from a wildfire circling through him to a deep pit of magma slowly smelting his entire frame from the inside.

“Should I kill him, my lord?” He barely picked up on the unknown voice speaking over the sudden ringing in his audios. He was vaguely aware that the owner of the unknown voice was most likely the 'Con who had held him while Megatron humiliated him one last time... and broke him. Giving a soundless whimper, Bumblebee tried curling up on himself, but he couldn't move, his frame merely twitching. Megatron had succeeded. He had broken Bumblebee. Maybe not mentally, but physically. He had taken everything from him, Bumblebee was nothing more than a bleeding frame now. And somehow, that realization was worse than anything else the warlord had done to him. He had broken him.

“No... Leave him for scrap and let him suffer a slow death. We have more important things to see to.” The tone of Megatron's voice was triumphant, telling Bumblebee that the former gladiator was aware of what was passing through his mind. Megatron knew he had won. And Bumblebee... he had failed Optimus. As the sound of Megatron's steps faded away, leaving him with nothing but mental and physical pain, it was the picture of his leader Bumblebee clung to as he slipped into darkness.

***

It had been four solar cycles since Bumblebee came online again. He had been found by Autobot troops and taken to a shelter, where Ratchet had worked hard on stabilizing him and saving him. The medic had succeeded – to some extend.

Moving slowly and painfully, Bumblebee reached up, resting his fingers over the plating welded to his neck as bandages while he healed. There had been nothing to do about his voicebox. He was a mute now. Broken. Lowering his helmet, he stared down at his own scarred and wounded frame. It would take a while for it to be fully repaired. His mind, however, would never be. He knew that in his spark. He was _broken_.

He didn't look up when he heard the door open, assuming it was Ratchet again. He easily recognized the sound of the footsteps nearing, though, and stiffened. _Optimus_. He couldn't bring himself to look up, to meet the kind optics of his leader. How could he, when he himself was broken like this? He was a failure, and he wasn't a complete 'Bot anymore. He didn't feel worthy of carrying their insignia. Megatron had destroyed him.

Giving a start when a large servo softly touched his shoulder strut, Bumblebee turned his head away, feeling his good door wing lower in shame. He didn't want his leader to see him like this. He felt disgusted by himself. But instead of anger, or worse, disappointment, the feeling seeping through Optimus' EM field was intense relief. Very slowly and carefully, Bumblebee gazed up at him, only to be met by a gentle smile. Blinking in confusion, he just stared.

Why wasn't Optimus angry? Disappointed? _Disgusted?_ Bumblebee was broken, he was only a shadow of his former self, he was useless. But that wasn't what he saw when he looked up at Optimus. He couldn't detect anything but relief that Bumblebee was alright. But... He _wasn't_ alright. He couldn't even tell Optimus that he wasn't! Megatron had stolen his voice! He wasn't complete anymore, he was broken, useless. He almost got angry with Optimus for not seeing this, and quickly turned his helmet, looking away and hiding the emotions in his optics.

The hand on his shoulder gave a careful squeeze, wordlessly asking him to look up again. How could Bumblebee deny him? Looking up, he faced his leader once more. Smiling at him, Optimus carefully placed his other hand on Bumblebee's other shoulder, not adding any weight but simply holding them there to provide security and comfort. And his expression clearly told Bumblebee that he thought his scout deserved it. He looked relieved and proud, smile telling Bumblebee that all that mattered to him was that the younger 'Bot was alive.

Carefully raising his hand and touching it to his throat, Bumblebee looked away for the third time. He was broken, he didn't deserve this. He had no voice. Lifting a large servo to place it over Bumblebee's, Optimus moved his hand from his neck to instead place it over his yellow chassis, resting it above his spark. Slowly looking up, Bumblebee felt his optic widen.

The gesture spoke for itself, telling him that he wasn't broken. That he was everything but. Optimus still valued him like before. He might have lost his voicebox, but his spark had never faltered. Bumblebee had faced horrors and had survived, he hadn't let himself be cowed, he hadn't let Megatron win. He had fought, and in Optimus' optics, he saw that he had won.

Wordlessly turning his servo to give Optimus' larger one a thankful squeeze, Bumblebee smiled for the first time since having been caught. He wasn't broken. After all, who needed words with a leader like Optimus?

 


End file.
